


November 2018

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 challenge: 2018 [11]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-08-21 20:24:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 15,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16583513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of November.





	1. Three-Hundred Five: Marathon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s got himself good and comfy in his bedroom, a new box of pizza open in front of him and the rest of his marathon queues up on the TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam joins Dean for his movie marathon.

Dean’s got himself good and comfy in his bedroom, a new box of pizza open in front of him and the rest of his marathon queues up on the TV. He’s promised his brother that he’ll stop hiding in here, and he means it, but- well, he wasn’t done. It feels wrong to just leave the series unfinished, and it can’t hurt to have just a little bit more time to himself. He doesn’t know for sure how many hunters are staying here, but it’s too many for his comfort and it’ll take a long time to work his way towards wanting to meet them all.

He’s just hit play when somebody knocks on the door, and he frowns, pausing it again to glance up. “Door’s open.”

It’s Sam, and he’s in his pyjamas. It must be later than Dean had thought. “Hey. Thought Halloween was over?”

Dean shrugs, glancing back at the screen for a moment. “On the clock, maybe. Doesn’t mean I can’t watch my movies.”

“Guess so.” Sam pauses for a moment, and he’s hovering, so Dean just waits until he gets to whatever’s on his mind. “You, uh… you got room for one more?”

It’s a surprise, but Dean doesn’t hesitate to shuffle over on the bed, making room for his brother. “Thought you hated this stuff.”

Sam slips inside and closes the door behind him, joining Dean on the bed and settling down. It’s just like when they were kids, huddled up close to stay up past their bedtimes. “You must have some reason for loving them so much. Only one way to figure it out, right?”

Dean watches him for a moment, then grins, clicking the movie on and getting comfy again. “We’re already on the third movie, so you missed some of the background, but-”

“I think I’ll manage.” There’s laughter in Sam’s voice, and he nudges Dean as the opening credits roll. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean rests his head on his arms and keeps smiling, warm with happiness now that he’s got some company. He’s got his favourite movie, his favourite food, his favourite person-

Maybe Halloween is over, technically, but Dean’s perfectly happy to keep on enjoying it as long as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Three-Hundred Six: Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam means to make it a romantic dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries so, so hard. He just can't cook. Little Sam/Jess thing.

Sam means to make it a romantic dinner. He’s got the candles set up, and a dozen roses that cost him more than his weekly groceries, and even a fancy tablecloth he managed to find on sale. It’s just the dinner that’s left to figure out, and- and he thought it would be a whole lot easier.

Jessica comes home right in time to catch him struggling to put out a fire, swearing as he pats out what was supposed to be the chicken. The peas are boiling over, and the potatoes smell like they’re burning, and nothing is going the way it’s supposed to.

“Shit- hold on, just a second,” he says when the door opens, and he winces when he glances over his shoulder and sees her. She’s beautiful, still dressed for class, and her eyebrows are raised as she sets down her bag. “This- this isn’t as bad as it looks-”

“Let me help.” She’s at his elbow in an instant, turning off the burners and helping him pat out the flame. There’s only a charred mess left behind, and Sam makes a face as Jessica finishes trying to rescue their dinner. “What happened here?”

“I, uh…” Sam clears his throat, suddenly embarrassed as his cheeks heat up. “I… made dinner?”

It sounds silly, looking at the mess in front of them, and he coughs. “I- I tried.”

Jessica smiles in a way that makes his heart melt, and she reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck. “I can see that.”

Sam laughs sheepishly, and when she stretches up on her toes for a kiss, he pulls her closer, smiling into it as they hold each other. Quietly, against her lips, he says “happy anniversary, Jess.”

She laughs, too, and she nuzzles against him so their noses brush together. “We’ll order pizza,” she teases gently. “And tomorrow, I’ll start teaching you to cook.”

Sam grins and kisses her once more for good measure. He doesn’t ever want to stop. “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Three-Hundred Seven: Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s in a good mood when they get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm upset about the bunker being full of random people and Dean being unhappy about it. ;-;

Dean’s in a good mood when they get home. It’s just a quick beer run with his brother, but it’s nice to get out again. He’s already feeling better for the few small outings they’ve had, and- hell, maybe it’s just that he gets to spend time with Sam again. After the weeks with Michael, it’s-

Well. It’s better.

Today, they’re both in high spirits, smiling and nudging each other as they head back into the bunker. It’s early in the evening, and it’s bustling with activity, and that’s still something Dean isn’t used to, but he swallows it down for now. He elbows his brother and says “no way. Batman has Superman beat, hands down. He’s got the Batmobile, dude.”

“And Superman can fly,” Sam retorts. They’ve had this mock-argument a million times over the years, and they never really come to any proper conclusion. “And he can shoot lasers out of his eyes.”

“Then Batman just needs a mirror.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. They make it to the bottom of the stairs, and Sam nods at a couple of hunters that Dean still can’t bring himself to recognize. Dean stays quiet, still uncomfortable with their presence. “Everything good?”

“All good, Chief.” One of them smiles. Maybe it’s Riley. Dean doesn’t think he wants to know. “We’re just shutting down for the night. Nice to have a place to call home, you know?”

Sam smiles, too. Dean stays silent. “Yeah, I know what you mean. See you tomorrow, guys.”

The pair bid Sam goodnight, and Dean goes on ahead, feeling something cold and unpleasant rising in his chest. He doesn’t like the way those words sounded; doesn’t like hearing somebody who isn’t his family call this place their home. He’s spent so long trying to convince his brother that they can be safe here, that they can be happy, but- but now it’s full of strangers and it doesn’t really feel that way anymore.

Sam catches up with him outside his bedroom door. Dean’s about ready to hide himself there for as long as he can get away with it, but Sam stops him, catching his wrist in a loose grip. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Dean stops, but he stays quiet for a few seconds. He’s already told Sam what bothers him about this, but he doesn’t want to push it. His brother cares about these people. They’re important to him. “I’m fine. Just tired, s’all.”

“Alright.” Sam doesn’t pull away, though, still holding onto Dean. “You want some company?”

Dean thinks again about bundling himself away in his bedroom, hiding from the rest of the world. It’s tempting, especially given the sour mood he’s headed towards, but…

“Yeah.” He exhales and pushes the door open. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

Sam follows him in, and they don’t talk as they get ready for bed. There’s still tidying to be done in here, old beer bottles and takeout containers, but Dean sets it aside to be dealt with later. Right now, he crawls into bed and waits for his brother to join him, only relaxing once a pair of familiar arms curl around him, strong and sure.

He’s almost fallen asleep when Sam speaks, a tiny movement of lips against the back of his neck. “This is our home,” he says quietly. “Alright? No matter what.”

Dean swallows hard and keeps his eyes closed, only relaxing once Sam pulls him closer. Whatever happens in the bunker, whoever else might be here- whatever else might happen- this, right here, is familiar. This is safe.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “I know.”

He’ll always feel at home in his brother’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Three-Hundred Eight: Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think this means you’re officially getting old, Jen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jared having a "sexy" picture of Jensen's knee getting iced is. Uh. Very suspicious.

“I think this means you’re officially getting old, Jen.”

Jensen huffs and chucks a pillow in Jared’s direction, too tired to be upset that it doesn’t actually make contact. He’s sitting up in bed with pillows piled behind him and one tucked under his leg to elevate it, and he’s in his pyjamas. Just a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt to be comfy. “Shut up.”

Jared grins at him from across the room, getting the TV set up so they can relax before bed. “I don’t know, man. Bad knees? That’s definitely an old man thing.”

“They’re not bad knees, it’s just the one. And it’s hurt.” Jensen makes a face, wincing when he gives his leg an experimental stretch. He’s not sure what he did, but he’s planning to spend the day resting tomorrow, just in case. The swelling doesn’t look good. “And you hurt your back like- last week. If I’m old, then so are you.”

“Sure.” Jared laughs, then makes for the door. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

Jensen does as he’s told and settled down, grabbing a spare pillow to hug to his chest and watching the TV’s idle screen as random pictures start to scroll by. They must be from Jared’s computer; there’s an assortment of pictures from them spending time together, shots of the crew, even a few from recent conventions. It makes Jensen smile, seeing the scattered memories.

“Here.” Jared returns with a soft ice pack in hand, and doesn’t waste any time joining Jensen in bed. He cuddles right in close, then leans over to rest the ice pack across Jensen’s hurt knee. “That feel any better?”

It does. Jensen sighs, sinking a little deeper into the bed and Jared’s side. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” There’s a smile in Jared’s voice, and when he kisses Jensen’s cheek, Jensen finds himself smiling right along. “Maybe you’re not that old. Just a little old.”

“Uh-huh.” There are older photos scrolling by on the screen, of years past. It’s hard to believe they were ever that young. “Whatever you say.”

Jared wraps his arm around Jensen and holds him close as he queues up a show for them to watch, and Jensen’s happy to let his eyes go half-closed. He’ll doze off here, and Jared will turn off the TV before he turns off the lights, and then the both of them will fall asleep together, slow and easy. Comfortable. Safe.

“You look kinda cute like this,” Jared murmurs into his ear, teasing, and Jensen laughs. “Maybe I’ll have to take a picture, huh?”

Maybe he does. Jensen’s mostly focused on how good he feels to be right here, right now, with the person he loves most in the world.

Another picture couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Three-Hundred Nine: Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam can’t quite tell his reality from his nightmares, these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More with Michael hiding inside of Dean.

Sam can’t quite tell his reality from his nightmares, these days. Maybe it’s because it all starts the same way; with Dean somewhere quiet and close, with no witnesses, with Sam’s heart pounding in his chest, threatening to burst right through his ribcage. It starts with Dean’s eyes glowing blue, just enough for a hard wave of nausea to rise in Sam’s gut, and it starts with a slow smile, one that doesn’t belong on his brother’s face.

“I do enjoy watching you struggle, Sam,” Michael will say, and wherever they are, Sam will feel trapped. Pinned in a far corner of the library or the passenger’s seat of the car or even his own bed; anywhere he allows Dean to have him alone. He’s too terrified to say no, these days; there’s no telling what Michael will do if Dean starts to suspect something is wrong. “You’re doing an excellent job of keeping our little secret.”

It’s the bed, this time, and this is always the worst; Sam can’t be anywhere with his brother without bracing himself. Dean’s been giving him worried looks, despite his best efforts, but he hasn’t asked. Not yet. Dean- not Dean- is pressed in close, and he doesn’t even bother for aggression, this time. Stays right where he is, tucked against Sam’s chest, and whispers threats like secrets into the hollow of his throat.

Reality? A nightmare? Sam can’t say for sure. These scenes haunt him no matter where he goes, and he’s suffering for it.

“Maybe if you keep it up,” Michael murmurs, “I’ll even let you keep your brother when I’m done with him. What’s left of him, in any case.”

Sam squeezes his eyes shut and he tries to hide the full-body shudder that goes through him, remembering the icy claws that Lucifer dug into his mind; the gaping swaths of lost time that Gadreel left in his wake. The havoc wrecked by angels on the human mind even without such self-destructive intentions.

He’s petrified for what Michael could do to Dean in this state. He remembers what his brother was like when he came back from Hell, and wonders, sometimes, if it would compare.

“Or maybe not.” Michael hums, and he presses Dean’s hand flat to Sam’s chest, right over his racing heart. Sam imagines that, were he to dig his fingertips in a little harder, he could dig his way right through the muscles and bones and rip the poor thing out of its cavity. Maybe that would be less painful. “I’m starting to grow rather fond of you two.”

The difference, Sam has learned, between reality and nightmares, is in the way they end.

Sometimes, he’s lucky enough to wake up. 

Mostly, he doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Three-Hundred Ten: Diaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second time John wakes up, it’s to the hint of sunlight that peeks through his curtains and spills onto the wooden floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to grizzled dad AU.

The second time John wakes up, it’s to the hint of sunlight that peeks through his curtains and spills onto the wooden floor. He’s still on the couch, and as he blinks himself back into awareness, he notices that it’s still quiet. The kids must still be sleeping, and he’s content to let them continue as he hauls himself upright. By the look of them, they could use as many good, hearty meals as they can get, so after a quick trip to the bathroom, he heads straight for the kitchen, intent on making them some decent breakfast.

He’s halfway through some pancakes and bacon when he hears some movement from the bedroom. Turning the heat down low, he turns to investigate and is met with the sight of little Dean, wearing his blanket around his shoulders like a cape and holding his little brother tight to his chest. He looks a little wild, with his hair sleep-mussed and a dazed expression on his face, and it makes John smile, something warm and fond in his chest. Brutus trots in behind them, ears perked when he spots John. John nods at the three of them. “Morning.”

“Um… hi.” Dean still doesn’t seem entirely comfortable here. John can’t blame him. The kid looks hopeful, though, peeking past John to look towards the stove. “You… you’re making food?”

“That’s right.” John glances back, too, returning to the stove so he can make sure nothing burns. “You like pancakes?”

“Pancakes?” Dean repeats the word like he’s never heard it before, and John raises his eyebrows. Maybe that shouldn’t surprise him, but it’s still strange to hear. “What’s a- pancakes?”

John smiles and flips the bacon, nodding to himself when it sizzles in response. “You’ll know in a minute. And you’ll like them, I promise.”

Dean falls quiet, and John hears him shuffle over towards the table. He’s got in brother in his lap when John looks at him next, Brutus sitting down protectively close, and Sammy seems to be awake, his eyes half-open as he takes in the world around him, starting to get fussy. John makes a mental note to get some proper baby formula; Dean’s got a bit in his bag but it won’t last very long. Speaking once more, John keeps it light. “How’s the little squirt doing?”

“Sammy?” Dean considers that for a moment before he responds, and he sounds a little tentative. “He, um. I think I gotta change his diaper soon.”

On cue, Sammy starts to whimper, and John quickly gets everything off the stove and ready to serve before turning back towards the boys. The thought of a toddler being in charge of changing a baby’s diaper is baffling to him, but he keeps that to himself. “Here, how about I help this time. You guys have had a long night.”

Dean looks more skeptical than John ever thought a kid that young should be capable of. “But- but I always do it.”

Exhaling slowly, John moves towards them until he can kneel down in front of Dean’s chair. The kid looks even younger up close, and scared the way he was last night. He holds his baby brother like Sammy’s the only thing he’s got in this world, and John thinks maybe that’s exactly the truth. _Not anymore_. “Let me take care of it this time, kiddo. And then we can all have breakfast, okay? Trust me.”

It’s a lot to ask from a kid who’s been through so much, but after a stretched-out moment of silence, Dean nods once. “Okay,” he says quietly, sliding off his chair and then very, very gently offering Sammy. “Be careful. He- he’s soft.”

John feels like his heart might break right then and there, but he swallows it down, offering Dean a tiny smile as he takes the baby in his arms. Sammy’s definitely getting upset now, and the smell is familiar enough that John knows Dean is right. “Alright. Let’s get you all cleaned up, huh?”

Dean follows close with a hand loosely curled in Brutus’ fur as John heads back to the bedroom, bouncing Sammy gently in his arms, adding diapers to his mental shopping list. Dean’s already on top of it, apparently, hurrying to his little backpack and producing a clean one. “Here.”

John smiles at him, then nods towards the bathroom. “Can you get me a towel? And a washcloth? They’re in the little closet.”

Dean hurries off to do as he’s told, returning shortly and giving John everything he needs to get started. Once he’s laid Sammy down on the towel, things start to come back, and he falls into the routine, almost entirely disconnected from the situation.

He thought the classes were silly, back then. Mary had insisted, of course, dragging him to everything from diaper-changing to breathing exercises, and it was good for bonding, and he learned so much, but then-

He swallows that, too. He won’t let the past sour this moment, no matter how hard it tries.

Soon enough, he’s got Sammy all cleaned up in a fresh diaper, and carefully places him back into his brother’s arms. “There,” he murmurs, and for a moment, he’s almost overwhelmed by emotion. “All better.”

Dean blinks big, curious eyes up at him, hugging Sammy close before he speaks. “So… can we-?”

“Breakfast. Yeah.” John clears his throat and smiles once more. Everything should still be warm. “C'mon. Let’s get you two something to eat.”

Brutus snuffles at Dean when he’s sat down in his chair again, and it’s good to hear him laugh. John serves up a heaping pile of breakfast for the kid, plus a bowl of food for the dog, and as they all eat together, John imagines that this might be how it feels to have a proper family.

He’s already gotten too attached, but he doesn’t have the heart to regret it. Not when it feels so right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Three-Hundred Eleven: Leaf Piles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are finally, finally enough leaves on the ground to build a proper pile of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft Weechesters.

There are finally, finally enough leaves on the ground to build a proper pile of them. The rake is taller than Dean is, but he still tries his best, tongue poking out in concentration as he drags it across the lawn. Sammy follows him around with big eyes, asking a million questions about what’s going on while Dean does his best to answer them.

“Why’d they all fall off?”

“‘Cause they’re tired.”

“Why’d they change colour?”

“‘Cause they wanted to look pretty.”

“Why’re you putting ‘em all together?”

“You’ll see.”

Their parents are settled on the porch with hot chocolate, and Sammy wanders over to them occasionally in search of some attention. Dean remains focused intently on his task, and before long, he’s got a good, respectable pile of leaves. Orange and yellow and red, almost as high as his tummy. It’ll be perfect.

“Done,” he announces, and Sammy’s at his side in an instant, bouncing in place. “You wanna see what it’s for?”

Sammy nods eagerly, looking up at Dean with big, trusting eyes. He looks even littler when he’s all bundled up for the cold, and Dean reaches out to pull his hat down a little farther over his ears as Sammy speaks. “Yeah! What’s it do?”

Once he’s sure the hat’s in place, Dean grins and scoops his little brother right off his feet. Sammy gasps, and before he can hold on too tight, Dean turns and tosses him right into the pile of leaves with a laugh, following right after with a graceful bellyflop.

Sammy comes up laughing, and Dean’s smiling so big it makes his cheeks hurt. It gets even worse when Sammy climbs right on top of him, giving his chest a little smack. “I flew! And- and the leaves caught me!”

“Yeah!” Dean sits up to hug his brother, squeezing some more giggles out of him. “Wanna do it again?”

Sammy cheers, and the both of them get to their feet, and this time around, the leaf pile is a team effort. It makes it even more fun to land in it the second time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Three-Hundred Twelve: Djinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The djinn leaves Dean shaken for a whole slew of reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coda for 14.05.

The djinn leaves Dean shaken for a whole slew of reasons. He doesn’t like how close he came to losing that fight; he doesn’t like the fact that he was nearly thrown back into that hyper-saturated dream world- a world he’s already spent too much time in over the years. He doesn’t like that there are powered-up monsters scattered across the country, lying in wait to slaughter unsuspecting hunters.

He really, really doesn’t like how the fight with the djinn ended. He doesn’t like the way the thing spoke to him when it thought he was Michael, and he doesn’t like the lingering feeling of unease that the whole hunt has driven into his bones.

He should’ve lost. The djinn had him pinned, it had venom at the tips of its fingers, it beat him- fuck, Sam should’ve found him strung up in the attic like poor Maggie. But there’d been that burst of- of something, some intangible power forcing itself out of him. Something he feels, now that he’s aware of it, curled tight around the middle of his chest. A viper, coiled and ready to strike.

His favourite suit.

Dean still doesn’t know why Michael left. It all felt too easy, but now-

He’s in his room when Sam finds him, staring up at the ceiling like the plaster holds some kind of explanation. Sam doesn’t say anything; he just closes the door behind him and settles by Dean’s side, the two of them quietly contemplating the disaster they’ve got in front of them. Too many problems to keep track of.

“You need to sleep,” Dean says after an immeasurable number of minutes, and Sam stays quiet. “C'mon. At least four hours this time.”

The problems don’t go away when they settle down for some rest, and Dean sees blue light at the backs of his eyelids. He never quite decides whether or not it’s his own imagination.

The snake curls closer around Dean’s heart, but he still manages to fall asleep. This just isn’t something he thinks he can deal with right now.

Maybe not ever. Just another one for the pile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Three-Hundred Thirteen: Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can hear his brother’s teeth chattering by the time they make it inside, the both of them shivering and wet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters who need some cozy cuddling and stuff.

Dean can hear his brother’s teeth chattering by the time they make it inside, the both of them shivering and wet. The snow had been wet, heavy, and entirely unexpected, and neither of them were dressed for the weather. The motel room isn’t much warmer; the heater is mediocre at best and there’s a nasty draft that always leaves it a little chilly.

The first order of business is getting some dry clothes. Dean steers little Sammy towards their bags, mumbling as he goes, “gonna get cozy soon, ‘kay? And- and Dad’s comin’ home tonight. He’ll bring dinner.” And Sammy nods along, stocking close to Dean’s side while Dean dogs out some pyjamas for them both. “We can watch some movies.”

So Sammy gets his dry clothes on, and he crawls right into bed while Dean gets himself changed. It’s a little better, and he makes for the kitchenette next. Sammy stays where he is, watching from under his covers. They don’t have much in the way of food right now- it’s why Dean’s banking on their dad coming home soon- but they’ve got a few snacks and one special luxury he’s been saving for exactly this sort of situation.

Sammy starts to perk up once Dean’s got the milk heating up, and he pipes up, curious. “What’s that for?”

“Cocoa.” Dean flashes him a little smile and gets a pair of cups ready, meticulous with the precious powder. “There’s snow, so it’s winter, and that means we gotta have cocoa.”

Sammy’s smiling big when Dean brings the cups over, eagerly pulling the blankets aside so Dean can join him. “We really get some?”

“Really.” Dean hands over Sammy’s cup and warns him, stern. “It’s hot, okay? Be careful or you’ll burn your tongue.”

Naturally, Sammy tries to take a sip anyways, and makes a face when it’s too hot. He waits a while after that, settling down at Dean’s side while Dean arranges the blankets over their laps and turns on the TV.

“Dad’s really gonna be home?” Sam asks once Dean finds them a movie. He’s quiet. Tentative. “You’re sure?”

Dean’s not. But he’s hoping for the best, and he doesn’t want Sammy to be sad. It’s hard to have to be without their dad for so long, and Sammy’s just little. “He’ll be here,” he says, just as quiet, but trying to be confident. “He’s gotta be.”

Together, they sip on their cocoa and watch TV, the cold outside forgotten for now. Dean’s eyelids grow heavy, and he finds himself drifting off, tuckered out from the cold weather and the days of watching over his brother.

Dad brings dinner home that night, and Dean gets a real, proper sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. Three-Hundred Fourteen: Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hopes that he never, ever gets too big for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted Dean holding Sam like this, because. u g h

Sam hopes that he never, ever gets too big for this.

He fits just right between the parentheses of Dean’s legs, settled back against his brother’s chest like he was built for exactly this spot. Dean’s arms are wrapped tight around his middle, keeping him close and warm, and it’s so, so easy for Sam to close his eyes and think about nothing else.

“Gettin’ sleepy?” Dean’s voice is quiet and honey-thick against his ear, and Sam shivers, tilting his head into it. “We can go t'bed if you want.”

As tempting as it sounds, no part of Sam wants to move from where he is right now. Dean’s sat back against the couch, and even if there’s nothing but old carpet under Sam’s ass right now, he doesn’t think he’s ever been as comfortable as this. Another brush of Dean’s lips against the curve of his neck seals the deal, and he shakes his head no. “I’m okay.”

He feels Dean’s smile against his skin, and he’s rewarded with a handful of tiny kisses pressed all in a line, from the bony part of his shoulder to the bolt of his jaw. There’s something on TV in front of them but Sam couldn’t care less. “Good,” Dean hums, and he pulls Sam a little more firmly against him. There’s something unspeakably intimate about this, but not overtly sexual. Not this time. “I was hoping to stay up a little longer.”

So they do. Sam stays right where he is, cuddled back against his brother’s chest and fighting the urge to fall asleep. Eventually, he loses, his eyelids growing too heavy to resist, but drifting off in Dean’s arms is hardly a bad way for the evening to end.

Through it all, even in unconsciousness, he can’t help but think he’s never felt as safe. Nothing, nowhere,  _nobody_ will ever be as safe as Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Three-Hundred Fifteen: First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes to the feeling of his brother shaking his arm, urgent whispers yanking him right into awareness. “Dean. Dean, c'mon, wake up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snow and brothers.

Dean wakes to the feeling of his brother shaking his arm, urgent whispers yanking him right into awareness. “Dean. Dean, c'mon, wake up!”

Fighting through the haze of sleepiness, Dean blinks himself awake and sits up, scrubbing at his eyes while Sam just about clambers right into his lap. It’s still dark out, no hint of sunrise peeking out from behind the motel room’s curtains, and Dean figures it must be early. Too early to wake up. “S'wrong?” he mumbles once his voice decides to cooperate.

“It’s snowing!” The tone of Sam’s voice is excitement now. Not fear. Still, Dean’s up now, and he can’t just ignore this. “We gotta go see?”

Dean furrows his brow and pushes his hair back from his face. Outside. It must be half past three, at least, and if it’s snowing- “You’ll catch a cold. C'mon, can’t it wait?”

“Nuh-uh.” But Sam’s insistent, and he’s out of Dean’s reach as quickly as he’d arrived, already starting towards the door. He keeps his voice low, apparently conscious of their sleeping father in the next bed. “I’m gonna go see. You coming?”

And as much as Dean would like to close his eyes and fall back asleep, he’s not about to leave his brother to do this alone.

“M'comin’.” He braces himself for the cold and climbs out of bed, wrapping his arms around himself as he shuffles along after Sam. “S'just snow. Why’re you so-?”

“The first snow of the year!” Sam’s excitement doesn’t wane, and he bounces from foot to foot while Dean tugs on his shoes and a jacket. “It’s special. We can’t miss it.”

Dean figures he can take Sam’s word for that. A moment later, and Sam’s leading the way out into the chilly morning air, the moon still high in the sky as they shut the door behind them. As promised, it’s snowing; tiny flakes that float down in their tentative, swirling patterns, unsure of whether or not they’ll survive past the morning sun. There’s already a light dusting of the stuff on the parking lot, and as tired and cold as he is, Dean has to admit that it’s kind of pretty.

Sam, for his part, looks completely enamoured. He walks further out from the room like he’s in a trance, head tilted back to take it in, hands stretched out in front of him with his palms facing the sky. With only a handful of streetlights and the moon overhead to illuminate the world around them, there’s an ethereal quality to the scene, something that makes it private and disconnected. Infinite, somehow; a moment that exists outside the real of time.

“Wow.” Sam’s hushed voice comes out in a puff of white air, and Dean smiles, despite himself. “It’s beautiful.”

Dean keeps quiet, but follows along with his brother, drinking in the magic of this little event. It’s just the two of them and a million tiny crystals, caught up in a little bubble of stillness and silence. Locked inside their own personal snow globe, safe from the world outside.

“It’s kinda nice,” Dean admits after a few quiet minutes, and he catches the smile that dimples Sam’s cold-pinked cheeks. “In a… wintery way.”

He doesn’t know how long they stay out there, but they’re back in bed before the first streaks of pink and gold paint themselves across the sky. The next morning, the snow is all but gone, a special sort of memory that feels like a dream.

They don’t talk about it, but Sam’s got a real soft smile on his face for the rest of the day. Dean thinks that’s more important than a little bit of white fluff under their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. Three-Hundred Sixteen: Abandon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tries to tell himself that this is for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love. Suffering. Daddycest-adjacent.

John tries to tell himself that this is for the best. Packing his things, leaving in the dead of night, making as little noise as possible so he won’t disturb Dean- because that’s the whole point of this, isn’t it? Giving Dean his space, letting him grow on his own for a while? It’s easy to pretend, seeing the peaceful look on the boy’s face while he’s sleeping, but John still struggles to swallow around the guild that builds in his chest. It threatens to suffocate him, and he knows he can’t afford to stay much longer. Every second that ticks by is another in which his whole plan could fall apart.

Still, he lingers. He can’t help himself, not with the way Dean looks right now. Just a few shafts of moonlight slip past the curtains, gentle where they rest on Dean’s face, and the tightness John feels just gets worse. Dean looks so young like this, so fragile in the way it softens his jawline and brings out his freckles. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that he’s a proper adult now; John will never not see the tiny, precious bundle that a kind nurse handed to him twenty-four years ago. 

Small. Breakable. Immeasurably important. He’s still just the same, John thinks. In different ways, maybe, but the fundamentals haven’t changed.

It’s a struggle to tear his eyes away, to shoulder his bag. It’s not fair to leave Dean alone- he never deserved that; never seemed to be able to stomach it, even as a child- but John knows he doesn’t have a choice. Not if he wants to keep his boy safe and out of the line of fire; not if he wants to find that demon. He won’t let the bastard take anything else away.

By the time his fingertips touch the doorknob, though, it’s already too late.

“Dad?”

God, he even sounds like a little kid. He’s got the whole bit down, scrubbing at his eyes when John turns to look at him. His hair is a mess, smushed flat on one side by his pillow, and he- he’s soft. He’s soft in every possible sense of the word and John aches with it, caught up in a tidal wave of affection and guilt. Can he really bear to do this?

Dean’s sitting himself up now, but he still looks disoriented. Even after years of conditioning, he’s never been much of a morning person. “Dad, what- what’s goin’ on? What’s wrong?”

That’s what triggers John into action, hitting something deep that he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in decades. “It’s alright,” he says, and his voice is low and soft like he’s approaching a scared animal. And that’s what he does, slowly crossing the room back towards Dean’s bed and hoping the boy doesn’t notice his bag. “Nothing’s wrong, kiddo. You can go back to sleep, okay?”

Dean’s skepticism is blurred by sleepiness, and by the time John reaches his bedside, it’s clear the reassurances are working. “Okay,” Dean says, though he still sounds uncertain. A little boy told that there’s no monster under his bed. If only it could be the reality. “You- you’re not going anywhere?”

Fuck. The thought of lying about this makes John want to swallow a bullet. He might be the worst scum on the face of the Earth for it, but. “I’m right here,” he says, and it’s evasive, and he’s awful, and Dean doesn’t deserve this. Doesn’t deserve one single piece of this horrible life they live. “Just go back to sleep. Alright?”

The impulse is a mindless one, and John allows it to take him, leaning in and pressing a dry kiss to Dean’s forehead like he’s a toddler again. Those days are distant, back when they had a proper family and a place to call home, but it was their routine, and it must touch something in Dean, too. The minute resistance goes out of him, and he nods, eyelids drooping as he returns to his pillow.

“‘Kay,” he mumbles, and his eyes are closed a moment later. Quieter, more secret, he continues. “Love you.”

John struggles, for a moment, with the burn of tears behind his eyes. His voice is too thick when he responds. “Love you, buddy. Sleep tight.”

He doesn’t move a muscle until Dean is fast asleep, and it’s with a heavy heart that he turns towards the door once more. He only pauses briefly as something strikes him, and with slow, careful fingers, he reaches up to remove the necklace he wears. A simple chain with a golden band, one of the few remnants he has of his wife. He holds onto it for a few seconds before gently setting it on the night table by Dean’s bed.

John tries and fails to justify this choice to himself the whole way to the truck, trembling something fierce once he climbs up behind the wheel. He’s worried that the engine will wake Dean again- maybe hopeful, with the image of his son rushing out of the motel room to stop him from the mistake he’s about to make- but the world around him remains silent. He drives off with the sense that he’s left everything important behind him, and he wonders, once more, if it’s worth the pain he feels.

He doesn’t allow himself to wonder what Dean will think when he wakes up in a few hours. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if he did. At least with his mother’s ring, Dean won’t be entirely alone in the world.

That’s what John tries to tell himself, anyways. It’s almost good enough to believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Three-Hundred Seventeen: Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s become a game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Michael!Dean and Sam and things.

It’s become a game. Michael shows himself only when Sam is alone, catching him every time he comes close to letting his guard down around his brother; though these moments become less frequent as time goes by, Michael still manages to enjoy himself, watching the way the softness shatters whenever he takes control of Dean. It’s their little game of cat-and-mouse, something he indulges in whenever his other ventures aren’t taking up his time.

Dean has no idea, though his concern grows by the day with the way Sam looks at him. Michael feels every drop of it; the hurt when Sam flinches away, the confusion when Sam sticks close to him, regardless. The two of them are a mess, and it’s entirely Michael’s doing. He’s rather proud of himself for the fact, in a small, petty way. Maybe it’s the satisfaction of hurting Lucifer’s intended vessel; he never did get along with his brother.

Something has started to wear on him, though. Slowly at first, until suddenly it was impossible not to notice. Something in the way Sam looks at Dean now; looks at Michael. Fear, of course, and distrust, and hurt, and…

Some tiny, deeply-buried part of Michael doesn’t like that. Not one bit.

He’s fighting hard to keep Dean entirely separate from himself; he knows how potent his grace is, and one tiny slip-up would be enough to alert Dean to his presence and ruin this game altogether. Still, bits and pieces continue to seep through, and this is what Michael chooses to blame for the confusing feelings taking root in his mind. Dean’s the one worried about his brother, and Dean’s the one upset about the distance that grows between them, and Dean’s the one causing this problem. If Dean could just keep a handle on his own emotions, then-

Mostly, Michael tries to ignore it. He’s lived millenia without paying any mind to the tiny twinges of human emotion that pop up at the edges of his consciousness, and surely, this is no different. He’ll set them aside and push through to complete his goal of cleansing this world, no matter what the cost.

He tries. He tries with everything he has, but when he next shows himself to Sam, slipping out during a quiet moment after a hunt, and Sam flinches away like he’s been slapped-

Michael doesn’t stay long. He watches Sam cooly and struggles to bury the soulmate-flavoured hurt and forces a deep breath into his vessel’s lungs.

He hides himself again without saying a word, and Dean is none the wiser. He’s frowning the whole way home, glancing at his brother constantly, a question on the tip of his tongue, but the two of them stay quiet and Michael is left to his own thoughts.

He doesn’t like how the line is starting to blur. The longer he spends like this, living alongside Dean instead of snuffing out the remains of his consciousness, the harder it gets to separate out the feelings that don’t belong to him. He’s above such useless human emotions, but he doesn’t know that he can continue like this. If he’ll be able to bear it much longer.

He doesn’t like it when Sam looks at him- at them- with fear in his eyes. It hurts, and he wants to fix it. Or Dean does. Or they both do, maybe.

Michael can’t afford this kind of distraction, but the thought of leaving might be even worse. Dean’s never liked the thought of being alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. Three-Hundred Eighteen: Break Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s hard to say no to Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soulless!Sam and Wincesty stuff. Prompted from Night of the Hunter, specifically: "Honest to God, I will break your heart/Tear you to pieces and rip you apart".

It’s hard to say no to Dean. So damn hard when he looks the way he does, all soft and needy when he misses his little brother; when he drops the bravado and does his best to crawl right into Sam’s lap. It’s hard to keep his mouth shut, to shake his head, to give that one little shove that sends the right message, because god, does Sam ever want to say yes.

Dean doesn’t want him, though. Not really; not since he figured out that something was wrong. He wants his precious Sammy, and Sam- Sam just happens to be wearing his face. He’s a stand-in for the soul that’s been locked away from its other half, and that other half is hurting and doing its very best to fix that. Not that Sam can blame him; he remembers what it was like to feel that kind of hurt, if distantly. It’s no wonder Dean’s so desperate for a quick fix.

“No,” he says tonight, and it’s low and firm and it’s enough. Dean always looks like he’s been slapped afterwards, like he’s not used to being pushed away- or like maybe he’s suddenly remembered that he’s not dealing with his little brother here. Not really. “Just- go to bed, Dean. You need the rest.”

Dean lingers the way he sometimes does, almost like he wants to push the matter- he must be aching for it, missing the intimacy the two of them used to have before everything went to shit- but he gives up after a few quiet seconds tick by. He always gives up. He doesn’t say a word, just pulling away and returning to his own bed and apparently doing his damned best to pretend that Sam isn’t here at all.

Sam, for his part, is completely fine with that.

He doesn’t lie to himself: of course he wants Dean. It’s impossible not to, between the connection they have and the man himself; he’d have to be blind to miss that Dean’s drop-dead gorgeous. The brother thing isn’t so much as a blip on Sam’s radar; a tiny, inconsequential bit of morality. Dean’s pretty, Dean’s willing, Dean’s just short of begging for some kind of attention from him, but Sam. Sam won’t let it go that far.

There’s the Sammy thing, mostly. The part of Sam that knows Dean isn’t here for him, and the part that doesn’t like playing second fiddle to someone so weak. Someone who probably won’t ever see the light of day again. He doesn’t want Dean to picture somebody else, and he doesn’t want to have to pretend just to keep it going. Maybe Dean would be happy if he tried, but that’s not Sam’s primary directive. Not in these sorts of matters.

There’s the other part, too. The part that’s harder to think about, because it’s confusing to even acknowledge its existence.

He hadn’t been lying when he told Dean that things were better with him around. Soul or no soul, it’s impossible not to feel  _something_ \- something tiny, something irrelevant, something he really ought to ignore- when Dean is close by. When he smiles, or laughs, or goes all soft right before he falls asleep. Maybe there are a few pieces of soul still clinging to his husk, because Sam can’t help the way it all affects him. Dean is good, he thinks, and Dean is vital, and Dean is somebody he doesn’t think he could bear to ruin.

Across from him, on the other bed, Dean is already falling asleep. Or pretending to, at the very least. Though his back is towards Sam, it’s easy to see the way he relaxes, curled around a pillow like a child with a precious toy. There’s something untouchable about this part of him, but Sam still can’t risk touching it. Doesn’t want to see what consequences it might have.

For the most part, Sam hopes his soul stays locked in Hell forever. He doesn’t want to be buried in favour of that other part of his being; doesn’t want to be lost to Sammy. For the most part, he likes things just the way they are, living according to his own rules without regard for the tiny details that always used to weigh him down; the sorts of complications that would keep him up at night, back when he used to sleep.

Still. There’s a part of him that wishes things could go back to normal. He misses it in a detached sort of way, remembering the closeness he used to have with his brother, remembering how good they were together. How soft Dean could be with only a trusted pair of eyes watching. Without Sammy, that won’t ever come back, and Sam doesn’t like the thought of losing it altogether.

He banishes the thought from his mind and pulls out his laptop, intent on getting something done while Dean rests for the night. There’s no sense in losing himself to such useless thought experiments, and it’s for the best if he forgets it altogether.

Not that it matters. There’s nothing in the world that will free his soul from the cage, so things are simply stuck this way, and he’s perfectly content with that reality.

He doesn’t think about Dean. He can’t allow himself to think about Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Three-Hundred Nineteen: Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mall is overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft Jack and his soft dads and clothes-shopping.

The mall is overwhelming. Though Jack is slowly getting used to spending more time around larger groups of people, there’s something about the hodge-podge collection of stores that throws him off completely. Too many strangers, too many noises, too many exits- it’s a lot to keep track of, and he finds himself constantly struggling to stay focused on any one thing, regardless of how excited he is to be here in the first place.

Thankfully, Sam and Dean are here to steer him around. Neither of them seem especially comfortable, either, but they’re confident enough as they lead him along, chatting back and forth about surprisingly mundane topics. Dinner plans for the week, a new movie in theaters, the fact that they’re almost out of soap- Jack smiles, content just to listen for now as they trek through this unfamiliar maze.

“Here we go.” Dean gets his attention when they come to a stop, and Jack perks up, looking at the store they’ve found. Clothing, by the look of things, all of it familiar to what he sees on Sam and Dean every day. “Let’s get you some stuff that actually fits.”

“What I have is okay.” He’s tried to insist on this point a few times, now; the brothers have been lending him their clothes as necessary, and he’s quickly gotten used to it. Sam and Dean both insist that he should have his own things, and Jack decides not to mention that he sort of likes the thought of sharing. It feels more special. “You don’t have to-”

“Yeah, well, we are.” Dean’s stern look is softened by a smile, and he jerks his head towards the store. “C'mon, let’s check it out.”

The store is full of plaid, denim, khaki- practical clothes, and comfortable ones. Dean immediately starts hunting around for whatever he’s got in mind, but Sam hangs back, pointing things out to Jack as they pass. “They’ve got the sizes here, see- and you can try stuff on to make sure it fits right. You want to be comfortable.”

Jack nods along, enraptured. “Do you guys get all your clothes here?”

Sam looks surprised, then a little embarrassed, and then he laughs. “No. Maybe. It does the job, and that’s good enough.” He glances at Jack, then, and smiles. “We can go somewhere else if you want. There’s plenty of other stores in here with different kinds of clothes.”

But Jack shakes his head before Sam is finished speaking. He’s gotten glimpses of some of the other options on their way here, and he’s seen them out on the street, on TV, in movies. Fashion fascinates him, in an abstract way, but all he wants to wear are the things he associates with his home and his family. Comfortable. Practical. He’s heard Sam and Dean accused of looking like lumberjacks, so maybe that’s what he should stick to. “This is good. This is what I want.”

It earns him a smile from Sam, and right then, Dean reappears, already having gathered an armful of clothes. Denim and flannel. Jack smiles, too. “I guessed your size. Let’s get you to try this stuff on, and then we’ll go from there.”

Jack is more than happy to do exactly that, and by the time they walk away with a couple plastic bags full of clothing, he can’t wipe the smile off his face.

It’s nice to have his own things, but mostly, it’s nice to fit in. He likes being a part of this special little thing they have.

 _Family_. This is his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Three-Hundred Twenty: The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, uh… listen, kid. Here’s how it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean tries to give Jack _the talk_.

“Okay, uh… listen, kid. Here’s how it is.”

It’s been a long, long time since Dean’s had to have a conversation like this.

Jack looks so damn earnest, same as he always does. Eyes all big and curious, hands clasped together and resting in his lap, leaning closer like Dean’s about to share the secrets of the universe with him. Dean made him come out to the kitchen for this particular talk, because it felt a little too weird to be doing it in the kid’s bedroom.  _Kid_. He reminds himself, not for the first time, that Jack’s not even two years old. It makes this whole thing seem a lot more awkward than it already is.

Dean clears his throat and tries to focus. Straightforward. Simple. He’s done this before; Sam hadn’t been quite so eager about the whole thing- mostly winced and looked embarrassed for them both- but it still counts. It’s still experience enough. Dean can do this.

“Sex is… well, okay, let’s start with something else. When two people really, really care about each other-”

“They court each other?” Jack pops right in with that answer, looking proud to have known an answer. “And then there’s the dating, and  _then_ there’s the sex. That’s how it goes, right?”

It’s not any easier to hear the second time around. “Uh- yeah. Something like that. I mean, it isn’t always that way, but…” He trails off. He doesn’t want to get Jack confused about the way things are, and he doesn’t want to send the kid off searching for one-night stands, but he doesn’t want Jack to think that’s wrong, either, and this- this feels a whole lot harder than he thought it would. “Anyways, when two people really like each other- or more than two people, even, depending- when they like each other, sometimes, they’ll want to do… stuff. Together.”

“Sex,” Jack says helpfully. “They want to have sex.”

“Uh- right. Yeah.” Dean wonders, if he prays hard enough, whether some greater being will have enough mercy to kill him on the spot. No harm in trying. “And- and that’s good. Sex is a good thing. As long as everybody’s into it.”

Jack tilts his head. “Into it?”

Dean nods, happy for something to focus on that’s a little less uncomfortable. Consent is easy. “Yeah, into it. Like- like if those two people are gonna do something, then it’s important they both like it, or else somebody’s gonna get hurt. And that’s bad.”

Jack looks like he’s just short of whipping out his little notepad from the hunt and scribbling down every word that comes out of Dean’s mouth. “Bad. Got it. Then what’s good?”

“Whatever they both like doing.” Dean clears his throat again. “They, uh… look, there’s the conventional way of doing things, but lots of people have lots of different tastes, and-”

“Dean, you in here?”

Somebody must have heard his prayers, after all.

Sam comes in with a furrow in his brow and a book in his hand. He opens his mouth like he’s got more to say, but then pauses as he takes in the atmosphere of the room. “What’re you two up to?”

Dean almost comes up with an excuse in time. Almost.

“Dean’s teaching me about sex,” Jack says cheerfully, and Dean watches the way Sam’s face goes slack, counting the reactions as they tick by. Confusion, deeper confusion, a flicker of amusement, more confusion still. “Everybody has to like it, and people like different things.”

Sam visibly fumbles for words for a few seconds. “I, uh- what?”

“He started it,” Dean defends himself. “And- and it’s important. He needs to know these things.”

Sam doesn’t look like he wants to argue that point, but still shakes his head. “That’s… sure. Okay.” A beat passes. “Do you want me to leave, or-?”

“No,” Dean says quickly, because this might be minutely more bearable if he isn’t the sole focus of Jack’s intense gaze. “You, uh- you can stay. Give commentary. Whatever.”

Sam blinks. “You didn’t let me give commentary when you gave  _me_ the talk.”

“You gave Sam the talk, too?” Jack asks, and he’s wholly focused on this new topic, and Dean grabs onto it without abandon. “When?”

Eager for the chance to shift the embarrassment to his brother, Dean launches into a story about how they came to be sitting in this very position, decades ago. Jack listens, Sam grumbles and tries not to blush, and Dean slowly settles, finding himself more at ease with his brother’s presence and the comfortable atmosphere.

It’s still embarrassing having to explain all the mechanics to the kid, but at least Sam’s there to suffer through it with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Three-Hundred Twenty-One: Massage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean pretends not to notice as Sam winces his way through the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil. Gentle neck rub. Sam deserves it.

Dean pretends not to notice as Sam winces his way through the day. When they’re sitting at breakfast, when they’re going over a possible case, when they’re sitting around watching TV after dinner. Every time Sam turns his head more than a fraction, he makes a face like he’s in pain, but because he doesn’t mention it, Dean stays quiet. He watches, and me makes a note of every detail he can- how bad it looks, how severe it must be, which kinds of movements cause the aggravation- but he doesn’t say anything. He keeps his mouth firmly shut until it’s just the two of them, sleepy and pyjama’d and ready to crawl into bed.

“How’d you hurt your neck?” he asks once Sam’s under the covers, and watches his brother make a face. “You sleep funny or something?”

Slowly, Sam sits up again, squinting at Dean in the low light of the room. He looks like he’s going to redirect for a moment, then huffs out a breath. Dean’s expression is not one that allows for that kind of evasiveness. “I don’t know. Probably. I’m fine, though. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.” Dean’s already turning to head to the bathroom, still talking as he finds the medicine cabinet and starts digging through it for the muscle cream. “You won’t sleep if your neck hurts, and then it’ll just get worse because you’re tired. Then you’ll get a headache, and then you’ll be all pissy tomorrow, and I’m just gonna cut it all off before we get to that point. How’s that sound?”

He can practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Sure.” Once he finds the right cream- the good stuff that gets hot once you put it on; Sam gets this kind of muscle pain often enough for Dean to have decided it’s worth the investment- Dean returns to the bedroom, crawling in alongside his brother and patting Sam’s hip. “C'mon, sit up. Shirt off. Lemme see the damage.”

Sam grumbles something unintelligible, but still complies, pulling his shirt up over his head and sitting himself up with his back to Dean. Right away, Dean’s at work, shifting to his knees for a better vantage point as he runs his hands over Sam’s shoulders and up the sides of his neck, frowning. “Dude, you’re rock-hard here. And I don’t mean it in the good way.”

“Shut up.”

Dean takes that as permission to continue. He gets some of the gel on his hands and starts with a slow massage, feeling out the knots as he goes and trying to ease them a bit. Softer now, not teasing, he says, “tell me if I’m going too hard, okay?”

Sam nods minutely, and the two of them fall quiet as Dean works. He can feel every reaction Sam has to his touch; the slow relaxation that’s occasionally tempered by a moment of tenseness. It comes and goes as Dean moves his hands, digging his thumbs in as deep as he dares to coax the muscles back into order. He’s done this often enough for Sam that he knows what he’s looking for; could map the planes of Sam’s shoulders blind if he was asked. There’s not an inch of his brother that he doesn’t know like the back of his own hand, and he lets that knowledge guide him, doing his best to ease Sam’s discomfort.

After a few minutes, he speaks again, still quiet. “S'that any better?”

A soft breath, and Sam nods again. He’s noticeably more relaxed than before, and Dean thinks he’s dealt with the worst of the knots. “Yeah. Yeah, s'better, Dean. Thanks.”

“Good.” Dean gentles his touch, just running his hands lightly down the sides of Sam’s neck to make sure the gel is rubbed in as it should be. He leans in to press a kiss to the knob of Sam’s spine and speaks against his brother’s skin. “You gotta take care of yourself, ‘kay? Tell me if you’re hurting.”

“Okay. Yeah.”

Dean nods, and together, the two of them slowly shift down into bed once more. Dean takes his brother into his arms and brings Sam’s head to rest on his chest, protective in the way he curls his body around his brother’s. “Night, Sammy.”

Sam nods, his nose pressed somewhere between Dean’s collarbones. “Night, Dean.”

It’s the medicinal smell of the cream that soothes Dean to sleep, along with the even rhythm of Sam’s heartbeat. It’s always easier to rest knowing that his brother is comfortable, even if it takes a little extra effort before they go to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Three-Hundred Twenty-Two: Fidget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s gotten used to Sam’s fidgeting when they get ready for bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just. Gentle caretaking.

Dean’s gotten used to Sam’s fidgeting when they get ready for bed. Tiny movements, for the most part, and ones that are easy to miss, or would be, if he hadn’t learned to look out for them. A bouncing leg, rubbing at his hands, fiddling with clothing- they’re the sorts of habits that only come out when Sam is especially nervous, and Dean has taught himself to notice them so he can sneak in and try to help.

Tonight, it’s his hands. Sam’s picking at things, obsessively readjusting the sheets, rubbing circles into the palms of his hands as Dean gets the lights turned off for the night. They’re both worried about Jack, but Sam’s going to drive himself into the ground if he can’t even sleep. Dean crawls into bed alongside his brother and reaches out to grab Sam’s hands, intent on giving him something else to focus on.

“It’s time for bed,” he says, gentle and firm like Sam’s a little kid again. Already, Sam looks a little embarrassed to have been caught, but he’s quiet. Still. “You with me?”

Sam takes a deep breath, and Dean watches the way his shoulders slump when it’s done. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m just… you know, the whole-”

“I know.” They don’t need to talk about it. Not right now, when they’re both exhausted. “Just take it easy, alright?”

Together, they lie down, and Dean keeps holding onto Sam’s hands. Doesn’t let go except to get a better position, curling himself against Sam’s back because he knows it makes his brother feel safe to be held like this. Quietly, just a huff of breath against Sam’s ear, he speaks again. “Use my hands, okay? Don’t hurt yourself.”

They usually don’t talk about the way Sam opens up old scabs, or the habit he’s clung to since he was seeing Lucifer in every corner of every room, but it’s a quiet understanding between them. Though Sam doesn’t respond, he curls his fingers around Dean’s and starts playing with them, just tiny nonsense movements like a mantra he needs to repeat to himself. Tracing his fingertips over Dean’s knuckles, bending them experimentally, stroking in mindless patterns. Already, it’s lulling Dean to sleep in a comfortable sort of way.

“Get some sleep,” he mumbles, and Sam nods, just a little bit. “M'gonna be right here.”

He’s not sure how long Sam sleeps that night- drifts off while Sam’s still awake, still playing with his fingers- but he looks better the next day. A little more rested, a little more settled.

They hold hands more after that. Dean likes the way it grounds them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Three-Hundred Twenty-Three: Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s become a ritual, this little thing they do before bedtime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Michael stuff.

It’s become a ritual, this little thing they do before bedtime. Especially after hunts; especially after one of them has a brush with death. Especially when there are wounds trying to heal or scars come up to the surface, demanding attention. Especially when they both need the reassurance of reality, of being grounded in something vital.

It’s Dean’s turn tonight, because he’s got a new scar on his arm that forces a physicality upon Michael’s time spent in his body. He hates the reminder the way he hated the Mark of Cain, and Dean doesn’t miss the way his brother looks at him. Sam’s noticed it, too, though he doesn’t do anything to acknowledge it until they’ve both crawled into bed.

Dean’s got a t-shirt on tonight, because at least the sleeves cover up the mark, for the most part. He’s got his back to Sam, curled up in a safe little cocoon, so he doesn’t see it coming when Sam’s fingertips skim up the length of his arm, tracing from wrist to shoulder and back. It’s soothing, so Dean relaxes, right up until Sam’s fingertips catch on the hem of his sleeve and gently tug it up and out of the way.

“S'okay,” Sam says quietly, because he must feel the way that Dean tenses up against him. “He’s gone. It’s not your fault.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, but his breath hitches when he feels the brush of Sam’s lips against his bare skin. Not directly against the scar- not yet- but working in that direction, tiny butterfly kisses that send shivers all the way to the soles of his feet. This is their habit; kissing things better like they’re children again and healing is so simple. It won’t erase the mark, and it won’t force the memories to fade, but it’s just.

When Sam does make it to the scar, Dean lets out  shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut once more against the darkness of the room. Something starts to drain out of him, tension or stress or some combination thereof, and Sam just lingers, one arm winding its way around Dean’s middle and holding him close.

“It’s not your fault,” he says again, and Dean keeps breathing. Though he doesn’t believe that himself, he believes that Sam believes it. Maybe that’s the most important thing. “You’re good, Dean. You’re good.”

They fall asleep like that, with Dean thinking about the scars his brother has fought so hard to heal and wondering if this one will fade with time, too. He’s been wiped clean so many times that it’s become hard to keep track of them all. Then again, maybe that’s for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. Three-Hundred Twenty-Four: Bed-sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean used to ask for this privilege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddling is important.

Dean used to ask for this privilege. To crawl into bed with his little brother, years after they got too old for sharing, and curl up close. To rest his head on Sam’s chest, or press in right near his back, close enough that when he held his breath and listened hard, he could hear it, just barely. The faintest sort of rhythm right under his ear.

These days, he doesn’t need to. They’ve been through so much together that they barely need to speak; it’s rare that they spend their nights apart and getting into the same bed has become a cherished routine. They take every moment they can together, forever wary of that inevitable time when it’ll be ripped away from them. They’ve already stolen more than their fair share.

Tonight, Sam’s resting on his back. He usually does; prefers to breathe in proper lungfuls of air and have a proper sense of the room he’s in when he rests. Dean can’t blame him, and privately, he’s grateful for this; it offers a much easier way for him to listen. He’s no longer shy about closing the space between them, and Sam welcomes him with an arm curled around Dean’s shoulders.

“Love you,” Sam says quietly, and Dean hums as he gets himself settled. He doesn’t need to look to find the right spot anymore; he lets his ears guide him as he rests his cheek against Sam’s chest. “Night, Dean.”

“Love you.” Dean’s echo is softer, because now he’s listening, and he doesn’t want to miss a single beat. Even now, before he’s properly asleep, Sam’s heart has slowed down, and Dean’s obsessed with it. He used to count, used to keep track of the way things changed over the years, but he’s not sure it matters anymore. Not as long as there’s a beat to measure at all. “Night.”

They fall quiet, and Dean lets the rhythm soothe him. Even, measurable. Reliable and constant in that way nothing else is for him; not a home, not a job, not much of a family. Just Sam and the steady, comforting beat of his heart. Just this one thing that works to ground him when everything else feels like it’s in shambles.

Dean falls asleep the same way he has most every other night of his life: listening. He wonders, sometimes, if Sam knows how important this is to him- it’s not like they’ve ever talked about it- but he always decides it doesn’t really matter.

They’ve each got their ways of coping, and they’ve got each other, past everything else. That’s what Dean clings to, no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Three-Hundred Twenty-Five: Well-informed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam likes information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late-season first-time Wincest stuff.

Sam likes information. He comforts himself by learning everything he can about every possible subject, especially when something is making him nervous. Fear is caused by a lack of understanding or knowledge, he argues, and it can be cured through education. Through research.

He approaches sex in exactly the same way. Especially when things start to get serious with Dean.

He feels a little bit silly for it. They’re both grown men, each with plenty of individual experience; they’ve certainly been with enough women to understand the basic mechanics of things, and they know each other well enough to get the rest of it worked out, but…

Well. He likes information. And he might be just a little bit nervous.

Dean catches him more than once on some questionable websites, and the raised eyebrows leave Sam blushing. He fumbles for explanations, for anything besides “yeah, Dean, I’m watching gay porn because I’m nervous about sleeping with you,” but for the most part, nothing comes out. When he’s really lucky, Dean plops down beside him and watches along, even adding his own commentary because that’s the kind of person he is.

“No way that’s gonna fit. What is it, like- twelve inches long?”

That just causes even more blushing, but Sam stays quiet because it still counts as research, he thinks.

There’s the more academic side of things, too- the statistics, the safety, the tips and tricks he finds on help forums. He doesn’t go so far as asking any questions himself, but it’s hard to resist the urge to take notes on the information he finds. Dean’s got enough blackmail material on him as it is without stumbling upon those particular papers, and he thinks he’ll remember it just fine on his own.

“If you’re really nervous, we don’t have to,” Dean says out of the blue one day, and Sam startles, nearly slamming his laptop shut on one hand as he rushes to close it before his brother sees what he’s looking at. He considers himself fairly creative in the bedroom, thanks in no small part to his past partners, but there’s no much to be discovered on the internet. “I mean- ever. If you don’t want.”

He’s trying to sound casual, but Sam only needs to take one look at his brother’s face to see the uncertainty there. He’s worried about this, genuinely concerned, and it just about makes Sam choke up. They’re both spending so much time getting so worked up over this, but maybe that’s just how they are. It took decades to work up to the kisses they share now, and what’s the harm in taking a few extra precautions?

“I do.” Sam tries for a smile, and he’s rewarded with watching Dean’s shoulders ease. Just a little bit. “I want to. Just… gotta cross my T’s, y'know?”

Dean smiles at him, now, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Well, if you need any recommendations… I know some good sites.”

With that baffling declaration, Dean wanders off again, leaving Sam to continue his investigation. He stares at the empty place his brother has vacated for a few seconds, then shakes his head and goes back to work. If they’re going to do this, then he wants to make damn sure that they do it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Three-Hundred Twenty-Six: Tux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, a tux? Really?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J2 stuff.

“C'mon, a tux? Really?”

Jared’s got a look on his face like he’s trying to hold back a laugh, and Jensen does his part, holding back a smile as he checks for the umpteenth time that Jared’s jacket is sitting properly. “We’ve got to look nice. 300 episodes, man. That’s a big deal. What, you just wanted to show up in jeans?”

“Good enough for the Winchesters, isn’t it?”

He’s got a point.

“Alright,” Jensen concedes. He’s finally satisfied with Jared’s jacket, so he nods to himself, not bothering to step back quite yet. “400 episodes, we’ll just show up in their clothes. Stay in character the whole time It’ll be fun. Won’t look quite as nice, but…”

Jared snorts, then tugs Jensen half a step closer. They’re almost chest-to-chest, matching suits brushing as Jensen tilts his head back to look up. Jared’s smile is coming through in bits and pieces. “You could wear a paper bag and look just as nice. You know that.”

Jensen rolls his eyes, but when Jared leans in for a kiss, they’re both smiling, laughter shared between their lips. Jensen speaks into it, barely a mumble. “I bet the fans would love it.”

They get distracted for a few minutes like that, exchanging lazy kisses and toeing the line of “too far” now that they’re all dressed up and ready to go. The car will be here to pick them up in a matter of minutes, so they can’t do much, but…

Jared pulls him closer once more, an arm firm around Jensen’s middle, just for the proximity, Jensen thinks. His mouth is at Jensen’s jaw, now, and he grumbles, half-hearted. “I’m gonna sweat through this before they even let us inside.”

Privately, Jensen smiles. “I guess you’ll just have to suffer through that, then, huh?”

It earns him a playful shove, and they’re both laughing when they make their way to the door. On the way out, Jensen teases, “I’ll make it up to you later,” and Jared huffs at him. It’s gonna be a long night, but Jensen’s sure they’ll figure something out. They’ve got all the time in the world for little jabs like this one.

“You’d better,” Jared says, matter-of-fact, and when he’s complaining about the lights an hour later, Jensen’s already coming up with a few ideas.

The look on Jared’s face says he’s counting on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Three-Hundred Twenty-Seven: Protection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hasn’t missed the way Luther has been looking at his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some... casual murder...

Sam hasn’t missed the way Luther has been looking at his brother. It’s been happening ever since Dean got back; the side-eyes, the suspicion, the distrust. It’s not the only way he’s been acting unusual, either; snapping at other hunters, being violent and unpredictable. He ignores the buddy rules, he doesn’t make his check-ins, and he prefers to do things the bloody way. Sam’s heard talk of civilian deaths at Luther’s hands, and it’s got him on edge. Even at home, now, Luther goes out of his way to leave any room that Dean enters, and Sam thinks that Dean’s started to notice.

“They hate me,” he says one night, chin pillowed in his arms as he watches some action movie before bed. Sam’s got half his mind on the work in front of him, but he’s tired enough that it might as well be a lost cause. “They blame me for what he did, don’t they?”

“They don’t,” Sam replies. “They know it wasn’t you. I’ve told them.”

He has. More than once. But maybe not all of them quite believe it.

It’s a week later and Sam’s up late. Later than most anybody else in the bunker; it’s quiet and dark and he’s just finished his check-ins for the night, so it’s time to get to bed. He’s got some things to drop off in his own bedroom before he joins Dean- Dean who’s probably already asleep- and that’s where he’s headed when he hears another set of footfalls.

Sam listens to his gut. He stays quiet and he stays hidden, just enough to see. Just enough to understand.

Luther’s got a knife. Not something from the kitchen; a big hunting knife that’s probably meant for skinning animals. He’s creeping along the wall, slow and careful as he heads down the hallway. He’s visibly tense, and Sam swallows hard. He doesn’t wait until Luther reaches Dean’s door before he moves forward.

He’s quick and he’s quiet. It’s easy to disarm the man, caught off-guard as he is, and then he’s got Luther in a headlock, dangerously tight. With the knife on the ground, Luther struggles for a moment before Sam presses down hard against his throat.

“I’m not going to let you hurt him,” Sam says lowly, and Luther wheezes. “Not you. Not anyone.”

It’s too easy to snap his neck, and Sam feels distant from the whole affair. Luther goes limp in his arms, and after taking a moment to catch his breath, Sam goes about the rest of it with a mechanical efficiency. There’s an incinerator downstairs, and bodies burn just the same as everything else.

Dean is, in fact, asleep when Sam makes it back. He’d made a pit stop in his own bedroom to change his clothes, and the knife went with Luther into the flames. Now he’s tired and trying his best to compartmentalize, and crawling into bed beside his brother is as good at soothing him as anything else.

“S’m?” Mostly asleep. Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but he’s responsive, curling closer to Sam’s warmth once they’re under the covers together. He’s soft like this, sleepy and trusting in a way he isn’t anywhere else. For anyone else.

“Go back to sleep, Dean.” Sam gets himself good and settled, wrapping his arms around his brother to hold him close. Protective. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Nobody’s going to hurt Dean as long as Sam’s around. No matter what it costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Three-Hundred Twenty-Eight: Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam feels just a little bit guilty for being so secretive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's keeping a secret.

Sam feels just a little bit guilty for being so secretive. He’s sneaking around, constantly checking over his shoulder, deleting his browsing history… but it’s for a good reason. That’s what he tells himself.

He settles himself down in the library with his computer in his lap. It’s quiet; people don’t usually spend time in here unless they need something, and it’s been a slow week. Nobody’s going to disturb him. At least not for a little while.

KU’s online course selection is wider than he ever would’ve thought. Math, science, English, law- everything Sam could ever hope to sign up for. His tuition’s cheap, too, since he’s older. Since he’s not taking any classes on campus.

He starts flipping through his course material for the week, planning out his schedule. Hunting, managing the others, and now homework, too- he’s got a lot on his plate. Maybe that’s why he’s trying so hard to keep it a secret.

He’s all queued up to watch his lecture for the day- a literature class, the sort of thing he used to take out of personal interest- with his headphones in, settled deep in his chair, but then he hears footsteps and he’s scrambling to cover himself.

Dean comes around the corner already talking. He knows Sam so well that it’s not a surprise he’s tracked him down so easily. “Hey, Sammy, I found something you might want to take a look at- you in here?”

Sam slams the laptop shut before his brother’s even finished talking, sitting up to make the whole thing seem a little more natural. By the look on Dean’s face, he’s not doing a great job. “Uh- yeah. Yeah, sure, uh… what is it?”

Dean pauses where he is. His eyes move slowly between Sam’s face and the laptop, and he quirks an eyebrow. “You alright there, kiddo?”

“Sure. I’m good.” Sam clears his throat and tugs out his earbuds. “What did you want to show me?”

Dean watches him for a few more seconds, then grins. “You should try to keep this stuff to a more private area, y’know.”

The implication doesn’t go over Sam’s head, and he’s blushing the whole time Dean explains a potential case to him. Okay, so his brother thinks he’s watching porn in the library, and his lecture is going to have to wait a little longer, but… well, that’s the struggle of juggling so many pieces of his life.

At least he’s keeping all the right secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Three-Hundred Twenty-Nine: Marathon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J2 stuff after the marathon.

Four hours. More than four hours, actually; the exact number is bouncing around somewhere in the back of Jared’s head, but he’s too tired to retrieve the information. The trek home had somehow felt even longer, despite the fact that they’d spent it slumped in the back of a car. Maybe it was the getting out and walking inside that had been so monumentally challenging.

“Is this what dying feels like?” Jensen mutters at his side, and Jared tries to work up the energy to look towards him. The two of them had stumbled inside and straight into bed, not bothering to change their clothes or shower before collapsing here, and they haven’t moved since. They both smell like sweat, but Jared finds he doesn’t mind it. Or doesn’t have the energy to. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m dying.”

Jared grunts, then closes his eyes. The ceiling isn’t all that interesting, anyways. “Yeah. Yeah, probably.”

Jensen huffs out a breath, then coughs like he’s choking on it, so Jared goes through the effort of nudging him to make sure he doesn’t actually die. This is as close to affection as they can get right now. “C'mon, you’re not that old. S'just some running.”

“People have definitely died from running,” Jensen shoots back, and he even nudges Jared in return. Maybe they’ll be able to sit up and shed their marathon outfits before going to bed. “And we’ll be the next two. Just you wait.”

“Uh-huh.” Jared opens his eyes once more and slants a glance towards Jensen. Jensen’s got his cheek resting on the pillow, and he’s facing Jared, watching him with his eyes in slits. It’s a miracle that neither of them have fallen asleep yet, but that’s what adrenaline and muscle pain will do to a guy. “You before me, dude.”

Jensen would probably shove him off the bed for that comment on any other day of the year, but today, he just grumbles and makes a half-hearted attempt to shuffle closer. Their legs are just barely touching, and Jensen’s fingers brush the back of Jared’s hand as he moves. Right after they finished, Jared was so hot he felt like he was going to combust, but he’s cooled down enough now that the potential for contact is becoming appealing again. “Shut up.”

Jared does. He smiles a little, then lets his eyes slip shut again as the exhaustion starts to tug at him. They probably won’t be moving much tomorrow, either, and they’ve got plenty of time to bicker after a good night’s sleep.

They’ve done something amazing today, and for now, that’s good enough. They’ve earned this tiny moment of rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Three-Hundred Thirty: Saloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a long damn day. Jensen’s just about dead on his feet, all worn out after the day’s patrols and some work looking into some local robberies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> J2 cowboy things.

It’s been a long damn day. Jensen’s just about dead on his feet, all worn out after the day’s patrols and some work looking into some local robberies. Most bandits don’t bother coming out this far, but there’s enough work to keep him and his horse plenty busy. Between that and the relentless sun that beats down overhead, it’s rare that he comes come anything but exhausted.

The saloon’s doors swing shut behind him when he pushes inside, and he doesn’t pay much mind to the other few patrons besides a friendly tip of the hat. Everybody knows everybody in a town this size, and the shiny badge on his chest makes him more familiar than most. Still, he’s only got eyes for one person right now, and he doesn’t waste any time sidling up to the bar and grabbing his usual stool- the one closest to the door. Just in case.

Jared’s polishing tumblers behind the counter, looking freshly bathed and sharp as he ever does. Hair neatly combed, shirt crisp and white- he’s a sight for sore eyes, and when he smiles at Jensen and starts pouring a glass of whiskey, Jensen thinks he likes him even better.

“Rough day?” Jared asks, and it almost sounds like he’s teasing. Anybody else in the world giving Jensen that kind of tone probably would’ve irritated him, but Jared’s a special case in a lot of ways. “You’re later than usual.”

Jensen shrugs. His schedule moves according to the sun, for the most part. “Maybe. What, you miss me?”

“Always.” Another smile, more secretive. There are some things best kept to themselves, and they’re both careful not to be too chatty about them in public. “Everybody’s still safe and sound, so I figure you’re doing alright, anyway.”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

He takes a long sip of the drink that Jared sets in front of him, letting the liquid warmth seep into his bones. Already, he’s looking forward to when Jared ushers out the last few patrons and the two of them can head upstairs together. It always feels like it takes too damn long.

On cue, Jared speaks. “Thinking of closing up early today. I’ve got some errands to run in the morning, and… well, you know how it is.” A wink, just for Jensen. “Important to be well-rested.”

Jensen smiles into his whiskey and finishes it off before setting down the glass. It’s good to be on the same page. “Most important thing of all.”

Yeah. He’s earned a little downtime after today, and the look on Jared’s face says he’s going to make it something real special.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Three-Hundred Thirty-One: Sheriff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rooms above the saloon are cozy, all paneled wood and clean linen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cowboys continued.

The rooms above the saloon are cozy, all paneled wood and clean linen. Jared prides himself on keeping things tidy, and it’s nice to come home to something familiar like this. It’s cool with the curtains drawn, and Jensen can breathe a little easier as soon as they’re up the stairs.

As promised, Jared’s closed up shop a little early. Not that anybody minds; everybody in town likes him well enough, and they can take their half-finished drinks with them when they leave. It’s a peaceful little community they have, relatively speaking, and one in which everybody knows everybody else. It’s quiet, and that’s the way that Jensen likes to keep it.

“You get much business today?” Jensen asks once they’re alone. It’s pointless smalltalk, but he likes to know.

“Same as usual.” Jared shrugs as they come up the stairs. He’s right close behind Jensen, and once they reach the landing, he steers the way towards the bedroom. A few steps, the door closes behind them, and it’s already easier to relax. “Nothing exciting, anyway.”

Jensen hums. Jared’s already getting closer, hands sliding onto Jensen’s hips and around the front, catching on the buttons of his vest. Jensen manages to keep his voice even like he can’t feel the warm length of Jared’s body pressed against him. “So you didn’t miss me too much?”

Jared laughs, and he nuzzles into the back of Jensen’s neck, tickling the fine hairs there. “I always miss you, Sheriff,” he murmurs, and Jensen closes his eyes. “Can’t help wonderin’ what you’re up to all day…”

“Nothing exciting,” Jensen echoes, because he prefers his job to be boring. It’s safer for everyone involved. “Mostly just waiting to come back to this.”

Jared spins him around, then, until they’re facing each other and he can lean in close and press their lips together. It’s messy and uncoordinated, and Jensen fumbles for a grip in Jared’s hair until it falls out of its ponytail, and maybe they’re both laughing a little bit, but it’s been a long day and Jensen’s missed this desperately.

“C'mon, cowboy,” Jared murmurs between them, “you need to clean up. I’ll run you a bath.”

Jensen’s reluctant to pull away, but eager to scrub the dirt off his skin. He opens his eyes to look at Jared, and gives himself enough space to breathe. “You think it’ll fit two?”

Jared grins and tilts his head back towards the door. “Guess we’ll just have to find out, huh?”

They already know perfectly well, but it’s always fun to play this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Three-Hundred Thirty-Two: Retirement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retirement is a pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Retired brothers.

Retirement is a pain. Maybe it’s just his joints, though; Dean wakes up aching most mornings, and he’s perfected the art of complaining about his back. For Sam, it’s his knees, but he’s being much more graceful about the whole “aging” thing. Bastard.

They still call the bunker home, at least for now. It’s the closest thing they’ve had to one, save the car, and Dean figures they’re settled in too deep to dig up their rooms. Besides- this place is theirs, and it’s a good base to start running the other side of the hunting business now that they’re no longer in shape for the hands-on part.

“I hate this,” Dean grumbles after hanging up the phone. Some young hunter wondering about wendigos; she’s a little overeager, but shows promise. Dean makes her swear she’s with a partner before giving her the information she wants. “We should be out there.”

Sam’s sitting across from him, because he always is. He’s been going grey for years, but now it’s really sunken in, and admittedly, it’s a good look. Not to mention one Dean never imagined he’d see on his little brother. “What, so you can trip over my cane and call Life Alert? They can handle it, Dean.”

They’ve had this conversation a thousand times over the past few years, but it doesn’t really get any easier. A lifetime on the open road has Dean itching from stagnation, but it does feel good to be doing something. Talking other hunters through the job is better than watching soaps all day.

“I guess.” Still, he huffs out a breath and sinks a little lower into his chair. He thinks about moving to the couch, but his bones aren’t what they used to be and the thought of moving is wildly unappealing. “And you’re the one who’d trip. Shut up.”

Sam rolls his eyes, and it’s almost like nothing has changed at all. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

Dean sees the looks they get these days. The hunters who drop by for advice, all awed and respectful. Jack and Cas, who both frown and fuss with all the concern of immortality, looking upon the tragedy of human existence. Their friends and family who worry for their health, but are thankful they’ve settled down. At least a little bit.

“It’s not so bad,” Sam offers after a few minutes of peaceful silence. “Right?”

He’s offering his hand across the table now, and after a quiet breath, Dean reaches out and takes it. They don’t have the time to dance around this tactility anymore.

“Could be worse,” Dean admits quietly, and that’s the end of it. For now, anyway.

If there’s anything he’s learned to appreciate over the years, it’s repetition and familiarity. This just happens to be one of their little routines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Three-Hundred Thirty-Three: Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dogs. Dogs upon dogs upon dogs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean does some research.

Dogs. Dogs upon dogs upon dogs. Dean never took the time to realize how many different types of dogs there were, and now that he’s confronted with it, the choices are a little overwhelming.

Every website he can find says that smarter dogs are better, that bigger dogs are usually the go-to for this kind of thing, but there’s so much information that he doesn’t know where to begin.

He wants to ask Sam. Sam would know this kind of thing, but it’s supposed to be a surprise. He doesn’t want to ruin it.

“You look busy.” Sam finds him, anyways. Even with all the space in the bunker, the pair of them always end up gravitating towards one another. Dean’s hunched over his laptop and fumbles to switch the tab before his brother can see what he’s doing. “You got something?”

He comes around to see the screen right in time for Dean to pull up a local news site, speaking probably too quickly to sound natural. “Uh- no, not really. Just working on stuff.”

“Huh.” Sam nods slowly, and Dean relaxes minutely when he doesn’t seem suspicious. “Well… let me know, I guess. You want anything to eat?”

“Sure.” A smile, and Dean’s still wondering about golden retrievers and German shepherds and the slew of other dogs he’s been reading about. “Thanks.”

Sam heads off towards the kitchen, and Dean exhales slowly. He still isn’t sure what he’s doing, exactly, but…

Well. This research is more important than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Three-Hundred Thirty-Four: Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Get some rest,” Dean tells his brother sternly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty things.

“Get some rest,” Dean tells his brother sternly. Sam looks ready to pass out and they’ve already got one kid to worry about right now. Jack’s resting in his bed, but Sam and Dean have agreed they don’t feel right about leaving him alone. “I’ll watch him. Just… go take a nap, man.”

Sam looks like he wants to protest, but Dean cuts him off. “Sleep. Look, if anything happens, I’ll come get you. Promise. Go.”

Another beat passes, and then Sam’s shoulders slump, defeated. “Yeah,” he says, and sighs. “Yeah. Alright, Dean. Just… take care of him.”

With that, he trudges off, closing the door gently behind him and leaving Dean alone. Alone, that is, except for Jack. Jack, whose entire body is shutting down in rapid increments. Who won’t live longer than a few more weeks if they can’t fix this mess.

Dean pulls up a chair by the side of Jack’s bed, just close enough that he can see the rise and fall of the kid’s chest. A tiny reassurance that he’s taken for granted until now. God, he’s only been around for a year, but still-

“I’m sorry,” Dean days without thinking, and he’s thankful that Jack is asleep. They got close to talking during their outing, and Jack said some stuff that hit deep, but… Dean’s not ready to address the guilt that sits like a stone in his chest. Not really. “I’m sorry, kid.”

He can’t help but wonder if things could’ve been different. If he’d listened to his brother, if he’d given Jack a chance from the start, maybe none of this would’ve ever happened, and maybe now, Jack wouldn’t be-

He can’t even think the word. His whole being shies away from it.

“I’m sorry.” He says it again, quietly, a mantra. “I’m sorry, Jack. For all of it. I just…”

Dean trails off, because even now, the words don’t want to come. He swallows hard and closes his eyes and just listens, holding his breath just so he can hear the whispers that tell him Jack is still alive.

He opens his eyes again, takes a moment to ground himself, and sits back in the chair to start his little vigil. Sam should be gone for a couple hours, at least, and Dean intends to fulfil his promise to keep an eye on Jack until then. So for now, he sits, stewing in his thoughts and wondering if he’ll ever forgive himself for how badly he screwed this up.

Probably not. Still, he says it one more time. Just for good measure.

“I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
